


Time to Get Dangerous

by DelusionsbyBonnie, The London-in-the-Air Archival Society (sakuuya)



Series: The London-in-the-Air Archival Society [4]
Category: Battle for London in the Air
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 05:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 19,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14254359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsbyBonnie/pseuds/DelusionsbyBonnie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya/pseuds/The%20London-in-the-Air%20Archival%20Society
Summary: Rescued set descriptions (and set images, where possible) from round four of the Polyvore battle group Battle for London in the Air. Primarily not my work, uploaded here unedited for archival purposes.





	1. Maddie Summers / @a-eterno.

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @a-eterno. It consists of two sections from two different Polyvore sets.

A snapping of a charcoal piece resonated around the room as all went quiet.

Maddie's eye started to twitch as Mr. Spencer, the idiotic simpleton that he was, blathered on about some subject that was lost on her long ago.

The snapped charcoal laid in her hands, the dusky powder spilled on her calloused fingers. She stared at the powder for a few seconds, then dragged her gaze upwards toward the man who was sitting next to her.

The rest of the Cat Club watched amusedly, waiting to see what a slightly inebriated Maddie would say to the idiotic newcomer.

"This dress is not _exotic_ , Spencer," Maddie said quietly, anger heavily layering her voice. The fool sighed in the way fools do, saying what could have been the most aggravating statement ever:

"For us of the _gently bred_ community, it is. How horridly you poorly raised population must fare! The uneducated masses are simply ghastly," he said, not noticing the way Maddie's cheeks lit up and the colour of her eyes darkening.

"You would know a whole lot of the 'uneducated masses', I'd suppose? After all, _l_ was the one who was accepted into the all male university while you, hmm, were not even accepted into the most meager of all universities in the Ton, hm? Now, I must ask you to _curb your tongue_ before one of the 'uneducated masses' comes and whoops your sorry ass." Maddie said regally.

The insufferable man's cheeks turned red and he started to stutter out some common insults, calling her a squirrelly wh.0re and such (really, Maddie wondered how he thought she would ever even _tolerate_ him), until Dave Heaton stepped out of the shadows next to the man, and dragged him outside.

Silence reigned over the Club.

Dave finally re-entered the room, and took the empty spot next to her, leaning his muscled forearm against the table.

"What did you do to the poor man, Heaton?"

"We talked, and he understood. That was no way to get the charms of a woman like you," Dave winked at her. She glowered back.

As he walked off to get a refill on his champagne, Ling Min sat next to her, taking a long dra.g from her cigarette holder, smirking at the man who was refilling her glass as well as his.

Ling Min was the eclectic and more than usually sedu.ctive owner of the Cat Club. She was originally from the slums of China, and was the one who had brought Maddie her exotic dress, the blue cheongsam she had on.

"He's right, you know. That is no way to wo.o a woman like you," Ling said in her raspy accent that charmed the Ton like no other. (If Maddie tried an accent like that, she sounded like a goat with a sore throat from taking too much laudanu.m.)

"Then what is the way, master?" Maddie rolled her eyes.

"Well, for one- you have to do a lot more than talking. Your man seems to be... proficient in that area."

"Dave Heaton is not _‘my man’_... and wait, what about the 'more than talking'?"

Ling simply dragged her su.ltry gaze downward, raising a lur.id brow.

"Oh my lord... please get out. I will ignore this conversation for both of our sakes." Maddie said, cheeks as red as apples.

Ling simply lick.ed her cherry red lips, and- as she stood up- she whispered in Maddie's ear:

"There comes your man."

Maddie almost blew a gasket, but restrained herself in a true act of the merciful Lord.

Ling sashayed away as Dave sat down in his chair, handing Maddie's champagne glass back to her.

"What was that about?" He asked distractedly, his eyes flicking to some shadows in the corner. Dave's fingers tapped against the table, making a discordant noise against all of the talking.

Did Maddie hear a faint, faint whistle?

"Oh, nothing much," Maddie said, frowning at his fingers. "Why do you always fidget so much?"

"Sorry, what did you say?" The impertinent man said, glancing again now at the window with an expression akin to dread.

"DAVE. Where are you-- in the clouds?---"

Her aggravated voice was interrupted by a flash of noises.

Three gunshots, to be exact.

Maddie watched in growing horror as the rapidly approaching bullets seemed to be approaching her. Maddie, frozen for the moment for once in her life, stared at the metal things coming at her face, knowing she was dead. She screwed her eyes shut, hoping for a quick death.

But.

But nothing hit her.

Instead all of the three bullets formed an equilateral triangle on the wall, making an almost exact frame of her face.

Seconds later, an arrow pierced the air, landing right where the bottom right bullet was. Maddie duly noted that there was a scrap of paper tied to the shaft.

Maddie shuffled to the wall as everyone stared at her silently. She wretched the arrow out of the wall as calmly as she could, took off the scrap of paper, and read it.

_they are coming and they know_

_\- a friend_

A hastily written note. Maddie stared at it, knowing what was going to happen, as it had happened all those days before.

The scrap of paper and arrow burst into fire in her hands.

Maddie blindly stared as the arrow burnt to ashes in her hands. When it was completely burned, she palmed all of the ashes in her hand and watched them drop to the floor, like sand at the beach.

Dave Heaton muttered what seemed to be a curse under his breath as Maddie's knees almost buckled. He sidled up next to her.

"Are you quite alright, Maddie?" He sounded quite nonchalant, but a slight tremor ran beneath his breath.

Maddie's hands shook. "Just…just, fine…" Her vision started to blur as her knees buckled.

No. Not a faint! Her stubborn brain tried to keep her awake, but her heart seemed to be pumping out of her chest and almost seemed to be flying away like a bird.

"Maddie, are you fainting?!" Dave exclaimed, the veneer of shakiness in his voice had almost escaped to a full frontal concern.

"…Or something." Were her last words as she collapsed onto Dave Heaton's chest, sending both of them backward.

***

The first thing that Maddie did in waking up in a completely unfamiliar territory was to sneeze.

It was massively dusty in the room she was in; it was almost ridiculous. Haphazard piles of books and other assorted items vaguely resembling rectangles leaned over precariously. One cat sat regally on the highest stack, licking its paw ceremoniously.

Suddenly, Maddie gained recognition of where she was.

It was Dave Heaton's almost charmingly disorganized flat.

"Mr. Heaton, your flat is an absolute dum-" She started to mutter before yelping as a cat landed on her lap. It was a slightly thinner-than-usual sphinx, its yellow eyes boring uncannily into her own blue-gray orbs.

"Well, hello there," she giggled, rubbing the soft spot under its chin. The bald little cat purred like a steam engine, settling itself into her lap. Maddie felt the insane urge to giggle again, but restrained the inane reaction.

Suddenly, Dave Heaton burst out of the next room, donned in an apron proclaiming, 'Kiss the Cook!', and a wooden spoon in his hand. They stared at each other for a second, and Maddie burst out into laughter.

"Really? 'Kiss the Cook'? Such shameless advertising," Maddie spewed out between chortles. Dave's cheeks flamed.

"Well, I didn't know you were awake." He melodramatically sighed. "I came to see if you were awake and ask what you wanted to eat, but since you're so keen on teasing me it looks like you don't need any sustenance…" He did that annoying sigh again. "What a pity. I had some good curry going…"

"Well, that 'good curry' smells like it's burning," Maddie kept on laughing. Dave glared at her.

"Well, glad you're up," he muttered before shuffling back into the other room, presumably the kitchen. Maddie grimaced as the sphinx stood on its hind legs and licked Maddie straight down the face, and leaped away. Dave snorted in the next room, calling out,

"Karma!"

"How did you even see that?" Maddie asked curiously. Suddenly, Dave seemed very interested in the curry.

Maddie leaned back into her chair as she surveyed the following area. It seemed to be a mash of a dining room and a sitting room. The upholstered chairs had little scratches on the varnish and on the patterned pillows, obviously from the cats. Several bookshelves stood against the walls, in various states of disarray and messiness. Some contained only solid books, and others contained other knickknacks that came from all around the platforms. The furniture was all of decent quality, but it had a worn, well-loved quality to it. Several cats prowled around, and a violin stood with its case half-open as a white cat slept peacefully next to it.

It was almost idyllic compared to Maddie's almost unfeelingly sterile Alpha mansion.

She hated that house with a festering passion.

"So which platform is this?" she called out to Dave.

"It's Theta."

"Oh, thank the lord that it's not Eta. They would've booted you right out, with all of your ridiculous mannerisms."

"You wound me," A dry undertone in his voice.

"So my objective has been completed," She chuckled, standing up to explore a bit more. "You play the violin?"

"Yes, and-as you can see- I have more than I actually need," He said almost embarrassedly.

"That's no shame. Several instruments are needed to master one, so you can get used to all types of them."

Maddie had once tried the violin, but got quickly annoyed with it because her chin started hurting.

Maddie had no ambition… especially no musical ambition.

"You have a point there, but most of those violins cost more than my paycheck should be affording,"

"There's no pleasure in life if you don't splurge for once in your life." Maddie didn't even HAVE much of a paycheck, but she sure as Hell splurged.

"Yes, I suppose." Dave still sounded quite doubtful. "Alright, the food is ready!" He came out (without his hilarious apron, unfortunately), and placed the heavy iron-cast skillet on the table, skipped back into the kitchen, brought two glasses, and but them on the table.

"Rosé or Pinot Grigio?" He coloured. "Sorry, it's all I got."

Maddie snorted. "I don't really mind. Booze is booze."

Dave stared at her for a second, then shook his head, his expression slightly bashful.

"You have a man's mind, Maddie."

"Or something." Maddie snorted. "Now, this looks delicious! Let's dig in,"

Dave gracefully sat down and did exactly as she instructed. The curry was slightly burned, but the seasoning was delicious and Maddie could almost taste the effort.

"This is delectable!" She exclaimed, almost shoving a piece of chicken into her mouth. Dave smiled at her, the dim candlelight making his teeth glint.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Have you been to India? It's almost the same over there."

Dave's eyebrows scrunched together. "Have I been? I don't know…"

Maddie almost frowned, but didn't want to ruin the lighthearted mood of the night. She decided to joke.

"Dave, you old man! You're only of twenty and nine summers, yes?"

It seemed as if she worsened the mood with that. Dave's eyebrows went down lower as he stared at his now lukewarm curry.

Maddie's humour drained right out of her. "Did I say something wrong?"

Dave didn't say anything for a long moment, but his countenance brightened after a few seconds.

"No, of course not! Just stewing about the past. Anyways, why was that bloke Merton Spencer on your back?"

A convenient gateway out of a sensitive subject. Maddie almost narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but restrained herself. She answered the question, and they indeed had a very nice conversation for the rest of the night, but the feeling of unsettling never left her.

***

As they stood in the front of Maddie's pristine white mansion, Dave winked up at her. She was standing on the step above him.

"So this is where is leave you, then. Good night, Dave." Maddie yawned.

"No goodnight kiss?" He laughed. Maddie almost glared at him, but restrained herself. He was not going to best her this time. Instead, she giggled in the high-pitched way that most vapid idiots did.

"How hilarious that you say that! After all, those are the last words that my last beau said before…"

"Before what?"

"Before he was found maimed in a trashcan… in London."

Dave blanched. "Well, good night, Madelaide."

Maddie almost laughed in his face, but instead whipped out her fan to hide her smirk. "Yes, good night."

She would find out his secrets if it was the last thing she did.

Today was Sunday.

Today was the day when people flocked to church to pray for someone who maybe had never existed.

Maddie wasn't the best advocate for religion, after all- some of the things said in the bible were contradicted unfeelingly by Maddie.

She had declared herself agnostic long ago, right after she had finished her degree in the sciences. It had seemed so illogical to believe in something that could be completely false, and Maddie had to admit that she had always been skeptical of the unanswered questions involving religion.

Besides, religion had been the cause of so many bad and bloody things in history that many chose to ignore because they blindly thought that their religion was the best. The Crusades, for one- she shivered.

Maddie took her heavy book off her lap, deciding to go for a walk. She donned a heavy velvet cloak and we sturdy leather boots- for it was getting closer to autumn than to summer- and set out to the woods near the church.

Maddie breathed in the fresh air of the crisp Sunday. It was surprisingly cold for the day, with a steady breeze running through the aspens of the forest, the dappled sunlight creating a lively gavotte of warmth over her skin. Maddie pulled her hood on, loving the distinct smell of 'forest' and of the city beyond.

There was no way you couldn't want to protect it.

Wind danced through her hair as she spotted a shadowy figure, sitting on a log.

"Lord Thaddeus?" Maddie asked incredulously, taking off her hood.

"Madelaide?" Thaddeus blinked, standing up. "Why are you here? I thought you weren't religious."

"I don't have to be religious to be in a forest, Beck." Maddie said dryly.

"No, I didn't mean it like that... Oh you know what I mean Maddie."

Maddie giggled. "Indeed I do. So what brings you here on such a crisp autumn day?"

Hidden depths seemed to appear in her colleague's eyes before they were hastily covered.

"Just enjoying the nature, as usual. You know how much I love it."

Maddie sighed, remembering the walks that Thaddeus insisted on taking to avoid his work, which annoyed her to no certain end. "Mhm. But that doesn't seem like the only reason--" Maddie sneezed, covering her mouth with her elbow.

"Bless you, Maddie." Thaddeus took his handkerchief out of his pocket, the hidden depths in his eyes returning.

"Why thank you Beck," Maddie said, patting her nose with the handkerchief, and almost hand in it back to Thaddeus until she noticed a particular embroidery on the handkerchief.

It was a blue rose, sign of a sympathizer with the Rebellion.

He could be testing her. She decided not to react, instead handing the handkerchief back to him.

"What a delightful pattern you have on your handkerchief, Beck. How hilarious! I seem to have one just like it!" She giggled inanely, almost grimacing at the shrill noise.

"Really? Where did you acquire such a unique pattern?" He asked her where the base was. Maddie wasn't sure if she should tell him. Even though she knew that he was trustworthy and that she would be congratulated for bringing yet another member into the community, she still felt cautious.

"Well, since the store is _quite_ exclusive, I feel the duty to ask what you could give in return to the store?" She asked him what he could supply and what his skills were. She knew most of all of them, but she just wanted to make sure that there was nothing she was missing.

"Well...I _am_ a son of a prominent earl, which appoints me to a very high position in society. Also, I am involved in the science community and go to most social events involving important events and important people." Thaddeus cleared his throat awkwardly."Anything else?"

Maddie's voice lowered to a whisper as Thaddeus leaned forward to catch her next words.

"Are you ready to sacrifice your life for your cause?"

Thaddeus blanched rapidly; his eyes widened and he blinked.

"W-what?" He said shakily.

"Are you ready to sacrifice your life for them? Do you feel so strongly for what they are doing to die in order for the cause to go forward?"

He only stared at her, and Maddie sighed, putting on her hood. "Thank you for your consideration, but you are not cut out to be a part of--"

"Yes. I am." He said, his eyes flicking down for a second to the mossy ground below before glancing up to her partially covered ones.

Maddie stopped walking, took off her hood, and looked into his eyes.

There was a hint of melancholy and typical melodramaticism for Thaddeus (he was always so Byron-esque, and it annoyed her to no end) but real determination filled his eyes.

She eagerly drank up his passionate emotions as if they were a good glass of whiskey. "It seems we have... Reconsidered. Feel free to come to orientation at the warehouse between Lamba and Nu, and say you come with The Scientists welcome." She lowered her voice. "Do not expect a warm welcome, but I will be there to help."

"Thank you for helping, Maddie," Thaddeus said rawly. Maddie just gave him an enigmatic smile, put on her hood, and walked away to the sound of birds chirping in the trees.

An interesting addition to the Rebellion- that's for sure, she thought wryly.


	2. Liz Maximoff / @multifandomgal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by @multifandomgal.

"Business as usual..." Elizabeth muttered to herself, standing behind the counter in her father's gadget shop. It was a quiet day for customers, so she was using her free time to fix up a weapon for someone in the resistance. 

Suddenly, the shop bell rang, so she hurriedly shoved the gadget under the counter.

"Good afternoon, welcome to Maximoff's Gadget Shop! How may I help you?" She recited her usual greeting, putting on a friendly smile.

"Good day to you too, miss" the tall, elegant (yet maybe a little scruffy) looking man said, closing the shop door behind him, "I'm looking for some machine parts, and I could use some advice."

"Of course!" Liz said, rushing out from behind the counter, "What sort of thing do y- Oh goodness, Lord Beck! What an honour it is to have you in our humble store! I apologise for not greeting you as such when you came in..."

"No need to apologise, it's fine, really. I was looking to buy some gears, bulbs, and an all-purpose spanner, if you don't mind." He said, serenely. Elizabeth could not believe her eyes - Lord Beck's work in the field of science was simply fascinating, in her opinion, and now here he was, in her shop!

"Of course sir, right this way!" She recommended the finest materials they had in stock, and Lord Beck seemed pleased.

"Will that be all today, sir?" She asked, back at the counter

"Yes, thank you for your assistance, my lady."

"Please, just call me Elizabeth, sir. May I ask, what sort of project are you working on with these things you've bought?"

"Ah, it's probably best I don't discuss my plans in public for now..." His eyes seemed to search the room in worry.

"Oh, no problem, I didn't mean to intrude. Have a lovely day!" She smiled, handing him a paper bag full of his purchases.

"Thank you miss...Elizabeth. Until next time." Lord Beck tipped his hat, and then was gone, leaving Liz still in a state of disbelief.


	3. Kara Feurherz / @fashionqueen76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @fashionqueen76.

Kara entered the bookstore. She had pre-ordered a book. A book about the founding fathers and plans to build the city. She hoped a few answers to find in. And hoped for a few new or old lanes. Tristan waiting for them and grinned at her with the book. They knew eachother from the rebellion. "Good morning Tristan...I meant Mr. Curtis!" she greeted him. "Good morning Miss Feuerherz!" he greet back. She looked around whether they were alone. "I've heard you introduce yourself for election" she whispered excitedly. "Yes , I want to make my family proud!" he answered quietly. "You'll certainly. I vote for you!" she smiled at him. She often bought books in the shop of his uncle. He was always nice to her. She like him. They knew each other up. She paid the book. "I wish you good luck in choosing!" she said goodbye. "Thank you" he said and was slightly embarrassed. "Have a nice day. See you again soon!"


	4. Rebecca Tyler / @lunaofthemiste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @lunaofthemiste.

Rebecca pulled the hood from the cloak further over her head, successfully covering her face. She didn’t want to attract attention, be noticed, anything of that sort, especially since she wasn’t supposed to be where she was. It was Oscar’s birthday, and Rebecca had decided that she needed to talk to him and just sort out everything.

It didn’t help that he was de.ad.

She sighed, continuing forward and keeping her head down. Ever since the Hazard’s party Rebecca had been an emotional mess, the guilt from turning in Amelie slowly eating at her. It was selfish, she knew, but she also knew that she wouldn’t hold up under tort.ure and was too afraid to commit suic.ide. When she reached the secret spot, she looked up and tensed, noticing that there was someone else there.

Rebecca walked forward quietly, keeping on the toes of her heels. Getting a better look with the improved distance, she soon realized that it was Tristan standing in front of her. She was unsure of what to say, so she just walked up to him, and stood next to him. Tristan jumped slightly, then relaxed when he realized it was just Rebecca.

“I’m sorry.” Tristan said, breaking the long silence between the two.

Rebecca nodded. “I’m sorry as well. I should not have…blatantly yelled at you like that.” She said softly. “I know you’re doing what you believe is right."

“I shouldn’t have questioned your motivations for being here. If you wanted to rat us out you would have done so by now.” Tristan shrugged, looking down. “It’s his birthday today.” He added after much hesitation, appearing slightly vulnerable.

“I know.” Rebecca responded quietly. “It’s why I am here, I guess I needed to talk through things…"

Tristan nodded. “Oscar and I… We were very close, we…” He trailed off, not wanting to completely break down in anger or sadness. “He shouldn’t have died this way. Not like this. That’s why we _have_ to take the fight to them, Rebecca. To avoid this from ever happening to anyone else again.” He turned to her, his eyes pleading. “He was… a lot braver than me, he should be here now."

“He was braver than the both of us.” Rebecca added softly, looking down. “I agree that we have to do something, but we can’t confuse justice and vengeance. I understand that you want revenge, want them to pay, but you also have to look at the cost on our side."

"A war isn’t won without sacrifice,” Tristan responded, “and we’re going to have to make sacrifices to get the upper hand. You have to be realistic about it, there are going to be hits in the future."

“I know.” Rebecca shrugged, a half-smile on her face. “Forgive me, I am _annoyingly_ sheltered. I…I don’t even know why I ran for this election in the first place. I guess I wanted to prove myself, but if even _I_ can admit that my vision is a bit idealistic, what are they going to think?"

Tristan shrugged. “They’re people, and even if they don’t vote for you I doubt they would think that you aren’t dedicated to the cause, just like the rest of us. But you do have to be careful, even this is risky, especially after what happened at the Hazard’s."

Rebecca winced. “I usually am careful. If…if it gets down to it, I have plans to fake my death.” She admitted. “But it is only if I have to."

Tristan nodded, and looked at Rebecca. “I think you need some time to think.” He told her, giving her a pat on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

Rebecca gave Tristan a small smile and turned to watch him go, watch him become the Resistance’s golden boy once again. As she watched him leave, she felt her cheeks heat up slightly, but dismissed it. Turning back to where she was facing, she exhaled, a sad smile on her face.

“Oh Oscar, you would never guess what I am doing…"


	5. Andrew O'Rourke / @delusionsbybonnie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @delusionsbybonnie, aka [DelusionsbyBonnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsbyBonnie/pseuds/DelusionsbyBonnie). It consists of two sections from two different Polyvore sets. The first section was possibly co-written by Polyvore user and LITA creator @decoder13.

Andrew handed over his crate to two willing volunteers and returned to the dock to see nothing else to move. "Good work, lads!" he called, slapping a passing worker on the back. "Damn good." He swabbed his face with a sleeve and looked around for Captain French.

Cordelia was walking down the ship's gangplank, calling out orders as if she could still see everything happening behind her. "Less zeal there! Solid knots are good, but not when the whole rigging is one. And don't think I can't see that, Hobbes." Something clanked onto the deck before being pushed aside with a high, dull scraping sound. She sighed and stepped onto the dock.

When she saw Andrew looking around for something, she grinned and called out to him, "Andrew!"

"Captain!" He grinned and indicated the bare dock. "Got it done in record time today. That, or it was a smaller load than usual. But I think they are gettin' better and faster."

Cordelia's eyes widened with pleasant surprise when Andrew mentioned that the load might have just been small. "Actually, that was a BIGGER load than usual. Usually we don't fill the ship to capacity, so we can fly fast and turn faster, but we had no choice today." It was rare that something took LESS time than expected. She suspected that Andrew had something to do with that - he was a good man. She clapped Andrew on the shoulder, "Excellent work."

"Oh damn!" Andrew beamed. "Thank you, Captain. We're all learnin' fast." He paused, face reddening. "I... was wonderin' if you might like t'come have a drink sometime. Seems you've been workin' a lot lately. We all have. Could use some time off."

Cordelia hesitated to respond, and for a moment it looked like she might smile and nod. Then it faded into a look that was, at least, genuinely sorry. "That's a tempting suggestion, and thank you, but I don't think I can..." She saw something fall in his expression and quickly said, "Feel free to take some time to catch your breath and get a drink, though, Andrew. Tell the whole dock crew that. You did fine work in record time today, and you deserve it."

He nodded, still looking crestfallen. "Yes'm, we will. I'll tell 'em. Good men, they are."

"Thank you. They are indeed," Cordelia said, genuinely but without a smile. "You are, too, Andrew." She meant that even more. "I'd better go check on Hobbes now. The cream-faced loon can't go 10 minutes without breaking something. Thanks, and- and do make sure to rest a bit."

Her words came out uncharacteristically fast, and she may or may not have started to blush after she turned to go.

"Yes'm. I will. Thank you." His voice sounded a bit huskier than usual, and he stood still and watched her go.

Suddenly, Cordelia stopped walking. "Actually," she called out over her shoulder. She paused.

"Actually," she repeated, turning back around, striding back toward Andrew, and swallowing down the ghost of a blush.

"Actually," and this time she finished her sentence with composure and a smile, "you're right. We ALL do need a break, and I'd love to get a drink later."

Andrew looked like the ghost of his grandmother had just presented him with a puppy. "I-- er, just...name a place'n a time." He grinned more broadly than she'd ever seen before.

"Place and a time...well..." Cordelia closed her eyes in thought. "Two days from now, I have a long break between runs, starts about 7. So-"

Suddenly, a crash and a yell came from the ship. "Cap'n French, Hobbes broke it!"

She bit her bottom lip, clenched her right hand into a fist, and, apologetic eyes still fixed on Andrew, shouted, "Coming!" She forced a laugh. "You know when they say, 'Hobbes broke it' that it was actually someone else this time," Cordelia said.

Andrew laughed. "Oh aye, like children sometimes. Here, I'm goin' t'see you tomorrow on Omega, aye? Doc's expecting those supplies for th'infirmary. Let me know then."

"Honestly, I'm just guessing about Hobbes. They've never had to tell me it was him before, and it's never been not his fault before," she replied.

There was more shouting, now mixed with laughter and some impressively original curses, drifting out to her and Andrew from the ship.

"But yes, tomorrow on Omega, when..." Cordelia trailed off, swallowed hard, and chuckled again. "I'll let you know tomorrow. _Thank you_ , Andrew."

"Yes'm. You're welcome. I'll see you then." He was still beaming.

Cordelia briefly beamed back at him before darting back to her ship and up the gangplank, barking, "To start, WHAT is 'it'?"

Andrew straightened his jacket and then stepped up to the table. “‘M here t’fight,” he grunted.

The woman behind the table kept her eyes down, scribbling in a small notebook, but the man sized him up insolently, letting out a long stream of smoke from his cigarillo. “You don’t say. All right, Paddy, step to the left. We’ll call you up when we’re ready. Helen, put him down in column 3.”

“My name is Andrew O’Rourke,” Andrew growled. The woman glanced up at him, and then raised her head, eyes wide.

“Win a fight and maybe I’ll give a damn. Move on, Paddy!”

Andrew scowled, but the temptation of the winner’s purse trumped his pride. He turned away, and the woman watched him go, her expression of surprise softening. The man beside her had already turned to the next hopeful in line.

Andrew joined the group of men standing to one side of the roped-off ring, exchanging nods with the few he recognized. The rest of the warehouse floor was filled with people from all walks of life, well-heeled tophatted gentlemen rubbing elbows with painted ladybirds and factory laborers. All of them seemed to be placing bets, which Andrew took as a good sign. If the money was flowing freely, some of it would likely trickle down into his pockets.

The first two fighters ducked into the ring, and a fellow who looked like he ought to be a midway barker rather than a boxing referee started shouting to the crowd. Andrew watched the proceedings with interest, paying more attention to the business end than the fighters. When one of the men staggered to his knees, holding his bleeding nose with one hand, the referee ducked under the rope to hold the other man’s hand up, shouting something and grinning.

Andrew watched the defeated man crawl out from the ring. He was helped to his feet by a couple of burly men who probably worked for Albright, unless Andrew missed his guess. They slipped an envelope into his hand and ushered him out of Andrew’s sight, toward the back door where Andrew had come in. So it was a crooked setup. Andrew wasn’t surprised that the man had been paid to throw the fight. He wondered how long it would take them to ask him to do the same thing.

He waited through six more fights, while the crowd of challengers grew thinner and the crowd of spectators cheered louder. Finally, one of Albright’s goons caught his eye and nodded toward the ring, its floor already spattered with sweat and blood. Andrew slipped off his jacket and shirt, hanging them on one of the posts holding up the delineating rope, then ducked under the line, straightening to meet the eyes of a walrus-mustachio’d bald man so quintessentially British-looking that Andrew couldn’t wait to punch his face.

“H’annnnnd heyaaah we ‘ave a challenger to our Herculean champion!” the referee crowed. “Up against our own Jack of Fists, a Hibernean Samson appears! Eat your potatoes, gentlemen, they’re good for you!”

Andrew shrugged his shoulders, loosening his muscles. There was a distinctly feminine cheer from the crowd.

“Shake hands, boys, and give us a good clean fight!” the referee called. Andrew extended his hand, but his opponent just snorted through his mustache and raised his fists. “A grudge match it is then! Ladies, if you are of a weak constitution, you may wish to look away!”

A bell rang out, and the two men began circling each other. Jack lunged forward with a few quick jabs to Andrew’s midsection, which Andrew batted away. The crowd was roaring, the noise a dull pressure in Andrew’s ears. They were probably shouting things about Ireland. Liam wouldn’t let this English bastard win. Andrew could beat him.

Andrew feinted, blocked a blow, and then landed a hard punch to his opponent’s middle, following up with another to the side of his head. The man staggered back, shaking his head, and Andrew pressed his advantage, punching away. Jack lashed out indiscriminately, catching Andrew across the mouth. Andrew jerked back, tasting blood and spitting a curse.

Jack straightened, grinning crookedly. “Up yours, Paddy.”

“Come on if you’re hard enough,” Andrew gasped.

The two men started circling again, more cautiously this time. Their clashes were briefer, more cautious, and the noise of the crowd began to turn more hostile. “Come on, boys, let’s give the ladies and gentlemen a good show! No one lives forever!” the referee called, sounding ever so slightly nervous.

Andrew didn’t respond. This was his fight. No puffed up little man in a striped waistcoat was going to tell him how to run it. It looked like Albright had more hold over Jack, though, for the man pressed forward more aggressively. Andrew was hard pressed to fend him off, and took more than a few blows as he struggled to regain the offensive. The crowd sounded happier now, though, and the referee’s running commentary was distinctly more relaxed. At least someone was calm. Andrew was getting angrier with every blow he took.

Jack wasn’t happy either. Both men were beginning to tire, and their reflexes and punches were getting slower. Jack feinted forward, and Andrew ducked to the side only to step right into his opponent’s other fist. Andrew reared back, spitting blood and curses, and lashed out furiously. He missed, but the outburst was enough to put Jack on the defensive. Andrew pursued his advantage, pummeling the other man mercilessly until finally Jack could take no more. One step back at just the wrong moment and a concurrent punch from Andrew laid him flat on his back on the floor, and it wasn’t just Andrew’s imagination that he looked relieved.

The referee darted forward, grabbing Andrew’s arm and thrusting it into the air. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner! The Hibernian giant, our new champion!”

Andrew swiped at his face with his free hand, and it came away with blood smeared in with the sweat. The crowd was roaring, mostly in approval, it seemed. Finally the man let go of his arm and patted him on the back.

“Good fight, lad. Here, the boys’ll find you and give you your winnings.” He gently nudged Andrew out of the ring, and Andrew gladly went.

He pulled his shirt back on, his head emerging from the neck to see the shy smile of the notebook-carrying woman from the table.

“Mr O’Rourke,” she said, holding out a bottle and an envelope. “Compliments of the management.”

Andrew accepted them, mumbling his thanks. The woman’s smile broadened. “We do hope to see you again. You seem to be… quite popular.” Cheeks pink from her daring, she bobbed a slight curtsey and fled.

Andrew frowned after her, bemused. Funny how she was acting. He tucked the bottle under one arm and opened the envelope, fingering the wad of bills inside with mild surprise. He must be popular. This… this was three months’ rent, with enough to send as much again to Liam. Well, if he was going to get this sort of reward, they would be seeing him again. Shrugging his jacket back on, he finally caught a glimpse of the bottle’s label and swore in admiration. Damn right he’d be back, and in the meantime, he’d be living well.


	6. Zarina Knight / @bex-baxter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @bex-baxter.

I had memorised and rehearsed the lines on Jhandir’s sheet of paper. After getting permission from Daphne, I went to London and travelled to Beck’s door, knocking on it. It all began well up until the point I’d done something rather stupid. I have to say, I don’t like the dog.

I’m trying to like that dog of his. I really am. I guess it doesn’t work really work when I drop an actual cup of Earl Grey on him at an attempt of trying to pet him, I suppose. This led to a very fumed and upset Thaddeus Beck.

“Miss Knight! How can you petrify my darling Grey? What in London’s name has he ever done to you? Goodness!”

“Sir, I really am sorry.” Lightly cursing under my breath, I apologised to him. What’s so special about the damned dog anyway? I don’t take a fancy liking to pets normally, but occasionally I make an exception. Unfortunately, darling Earl Grey wasn’t one of them. He also seemed to sense that judging by his malicious snarl targeted towards me and the locket I wore on my neck. It was the key. “I honestly didn’t mean to drop the tea on him, Sir. He jumped at me and it fell from the sudden impact.”

“Yes, yes. Come here, Grey. Come to daddy, boy.” The dog hustled over to his owner and rested itself on his lap, to which he began to be petted to the extent I have deemed the thing despicably spoilt. I mean, look at it! “You came here for a reason, Zarina you know this as well as I do. Do not deny it, child.” What is it with people calling me a child? At least he didn’t imitate Jhandir, the despicable doctor. He couldn’t have been in his right mind to have called me stupid. Beck carried on speaking as though he couldn’t tell I’d zoned out on him for a second there, which he probably couldn’t. “No-one just comes to visit me out of mere wish. They want something.” He looked into my eyes just as I was cautious to keep them blank and empty of emotion. “As do you.”

Tilting my head to the side a little, I stared back at him and stared into his darkening eyes, not in an evil way, simply as if he was indulging himself in past memories. Memories that hurt the poor guy. To be honest, I feel sorry for him. I know what it feels like to be used and he’s been used several times. And I’m not just talking about Thaddeus poor excuses of romantic partners in life. His work, His life, it seems as though he’s been used throughout all of it.

“I’m sorry, Sir… but you are in fact, correct. I’m sorry, I truly am. I initially came to, well, obtain information from you.” I realized that what I was going was totally against my orders, from both Daphne and Jhandir but I felt like he deserved to know the truth. After all, I’m in the Rebellion for the truth, it’s be hypocritical to be doing it without exposing others to it, and besides, it’d go against my pledges to the Rebellion leadership and my own vows. I promised that I’ll allow all of society to be exposed to what London’s deadly and corrupt government are doing behind closed doors. Behind the rose-tinted glasses, these people deserved to know what was actually going on.

“Sir, I’m here to get crucial information of one of your experiments.” His expression morphed to pain. “I also need to be able to contact one of your wives.” Cautious of my next words, I could see in his eyes he was dreading the name I was going to say because he was tightly holding on to Grey’s fur and the poor dog was slightly whimpering. Beck’s knuckles were white with fear disguised as anticipation. Unfortunately, Sarah’s useless to me. I don’t need her to spill her guts. The Rebellion needs information form the other one. “Loretta.”

“Absolutely not” He objected, suddenly jumping from his seat and causing a now completely baffled Earl Grey to jump at his feet. Beck shooed him off and began to walk away, towards the entrance of the room. My eyes followed his movements but I made no move to stop him. “I will not allow you to contact Lorry. No. Absolutely not. I refuse to do so.” His voice was firm but I sensed an emotion was trying desperately hard to conceal. Hurt. Hurt and longing. He really loved her. “She wanted the distance, that’s what I’m giving her. She wanted the damned money, that’s what I gave her. Now she still won’t be leaving me alone.” I highly doubt he wanted me to hear those last few sentences because he stopped dead in his tracks, his hand frozen on the doorknob and stared at it for a second before quickly turning to meet my expecting gaze. Unfortunately, with trained ears, not a lot of conversations and sounds can be hidden from me. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Lord Beck.” I let my eyes show him that I was sorry, really I was. She was an awful mistake. “Sir, listen to me, please.” I said softly. “This information I need… without it, London and possibly England would be in a lot of trouble. You play an important part.”

After a few minutes, I managed to convince him of spilling almost everything he knew, which was fortunately a lot. I also got a hold of how to contact Loretta – doubtless she’d be a pain to deal with but I’ve got to do it. The next thing I’ve got to do is deal with the idiot who penetrated HQ. Also got to convince him to come to the Rebellion. I know it’s a guy because his credentials are over almost every hacking in England. The guy’s an arrogant snob and enjoys his challenges as much as I do. I’m also very aware of his existence. It’s the infamous Ashton Frost.

Just dandy.

After Beck told me what I needed, I thanked him. But I didn’t leave. He was surprised by this and didn’t bother hiding it. “Zarina. Mustn’t you be leaving? You’ve a lot of work, haven’t you?”

“I thought I could have a decent conversation with you, Sir. You look like you need it.” I joked with a small smile. I don’t know why Doctor Jhandir hates him so much, he’s not that much of a bore, the old guy definitely knows how to strike up a conversation; he’s all over the news and loves reading just as much as I do. I stayed for another half an hour, and then got a call form Zach who seemed to be wanting to me back home immediately as he managed to set the stove on fire. “I told you to stay away from the kitchen!” I yelled at him through the studded phone. Well, no not really a phone. Just a communications device the two of us have. We wear it everywhere. That includes the bathroom due to how paranoid Zach gets.

“Yes, well, as a teenager I was hungry. Besides, I called Minerva over. But she doesn’t know how to cook. So I thought I’d impress her.”

Let’s just say that choke on my tea was not all I did. My 17 year old brother will face hell when I come home.


	7. Ambrose Highmore / @chocomicol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @chocomicol.

Death. The one thing Ambrose Highmore feared the most in the entire world. The thought of basically going to sleep and never waking up daunted her. Never being able see the Sun, the moon, the stars, feel the wind against her face, not even being able to think. She knew she was taking a huge risk by being part of the rebellion, but it was one of her last connections to her parents. 

With the new base being built, came new leaders, and new leaders came with a new election. Ambrose was far too young to be a leader, but she hoped that one day when she was older, she would be able to run for a leadership position. The three she had voted for in order were, Zarina Knight, Dr. Anil Jhandir and Phineas Atwood. Zarina because she is a soldier and admires her greatly, she is experienced and cause Steers-excuse me-Walter flirts with them both. Dr. Anil because Ambrose thinks he has a really important job as the Resistance’s head doctor and thinks his ruthlessness is a good trait for a rebellion leader. She voted for Phineas because he was really smart.

As Ambrose walked along the streets, she saw Lenora Lynch, assassin-in-training. According to Resistance files she was following in her father’s footsteps. Despite not liking Lenora, Ambrose couldn’t help but admire her strength. Ambrose, for the life of her, could not beat someone up or shoot to kill. No matter how much training she went through, her aim was always off and her opponent always beat her. If Lenora had been part of the Resistance, Ambrose probably would’ve gotten her to train her. 

But, she wondered how Lenora came to be the way she was, cold and seemingly heartless. Sure, her father was a government assassin and she was his prodigy but so was Davis Heaton, and the guy had 8 kittens. Ambrose was totally jealous. She thought kittens were adorable, but whenever she was in the same room as one she would be sick for a week. 

Anyways, getting of track here. Anyways, her hat suddenly flew off her head and she stopped.

“Give it back Steers,” she said without turning around, “and DON’T say no because I look much better without.” She turned to face the annoying blonde headed prick otherwise known as Walter Steers. He was 1.75m of charm, flirting and annoying. 

“You’re no fun,” he said pouting. Ambrose rolled her eyes.

“I am fun,” she started, “just not with you.” He put a hand over his heart.

“I am offended!” he gasped dramatically.

“Good, that’s what I was hoping for,” Ambrose replied in a flat voice. She looked around hoping to see something that would save her from the misery she was in. Just then, she spotted a sign outside the hat shop that said that they were having a clear out sale and everything was half price.

“I have to be going,” she said, “there’s a hat sale and you know how much I love hats.” With a small smirk she waved and ran off towards the shop.


	8. Caroline Marcel / @extraterrestrial-whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @extraterrestrial-whispers.

Caroline leaned forward over her desk. In the dim light she could hardly make out her work. She didn’t mind, though. She was content to be tinkering again. 

Her nights often consisted of this; She would sit in her office, crafting with whatever scraps she could find and tending to Professor Gilbert. Louisa had gone away on business for an indefinite amount of time. Caroline on her own could not pay the rent and she hadn’t the nerve to let anyone know she could not get by, so she would sleep on an empty cot or on the floor.

Most commonly, she would doze off into one of her inventions. Tonight, she had an odd sprig of determination. Her latest creation was a delicate butterfly. Wealthy women would purchase them as moving accessories, but they would secretly be recording their conversations. That was the predicament. She could not figure out how to get the recorder to work.

So consumed was she, she did not hear Dr. Jhandir enter.

“Miss Marcel.” She jumped to her feet and pushed her goggles up onto her forehead in a rush, knocking the glass butterfly to the floor. It shattered into little bits of orange and black. Good, she thought, now he wouldn’t know what she was making. “What was that?”

Perhaps it was that it was so late in the evening, or that he had surprised her, but she found her mouth unable to form words. “Nothing… It was absolutely nothing. My apologies sir, I’ll clean it right away.” She stood there wide-eyed and stiff for a moment, before getting a dustpan. 

“Caroline,” he sighed. There was no use in trying to get her to admit her inventing. Caroline was very closed, the only person she’d ever really spoken deeply to was gone. 

“I have the preliminary plans for wiring electricity throughout the building, if that is what you’re here for.” She crouched over shards and nodded at a messy pile of papers on the corner of her desk. The doctor crossed and sifted through for the blueprints. 

“Ah, excellent. I’ll admit this is not why I came, but useful none the less. Splendid work.” 

“Thank you, sir.” She got up to put the mangled pieces in the trash, but instead poured them just to the side. She’d attempt to reassemble it late. “If you do not mind my asking, what is it that has brought you here?” 

Caroline’s office was her sanctuary. Not many ever came, and if they did they never did much. It was an absolute disaster zone. Pipes and wires lined every wall. An armoire, originally intended for clothes, held chunks of metal. Every drawer on her desk was overflowing with rubber and gears. She had a basket stuffed with miscellaneous switches. To anyone else, it would be a hell to find anything. To Caroline, she was the maestro to her own mechanical madness. 

Dr. Jhandir seemed to be more in awe of what she had done, rather than be frightened of it. “I wanted to ensure that I have your vote in the upcoming election.” 

“I wouldn’t think of voting for anyone else, sir.” He gave a slight smile. 

“Very well. Goodnight, Caroline.”

“Goodnight,” she said quietly as he navigated his way around the mess on the floor to exit. 

The thought of the election made her stomach turn. Of course she’d vote for Dr. Jhandir, but she’d also vote for Phinn. She hadn’t spoken with him since the death of Dr. Jacobi, but she couldn’t forget his kindness whenever she dropped in for a visit. He deserved to win something. 

But what frightened her most, perhaps more than anything in the world, was the thought of Johnson - Phillip - coming into power. Her stomach twisted into knots just thinking of it. She couldn’t believe that anyone within the resistance could be so evil. He despised her. What would he be able to do if he became a leader? 

She tried to put this out of her mind as she turned off her little desk lamp. Exhaustion began to overcome her body, so she rolled out the wool blanket that she always slept on and laid down. It was a bit cold, her outfits consisted of light, loose material that was often singed or stained. She didn’t mind though.

Professor Gilbert mumbled something indiscernible. Despite having been in there for weeks, he was a complete stranger to Caroline. She found him a mystery. Yes, he had a good reputation, but she could not help but wonder what went on in his mind. He’d opened his eyes a few times and seen her. Her presence seemed to ease his worries a bit. He had yet to speak, and her curiosity was killing her. 

She knew that things would be settled all in due time, so she nodded off hoping that tomorrow would be the day she could unravel who the man really was.


	9. Idris Li / @lightyears-away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @lightyears-away.

"So, what should I put in the fashion section?" Melanie asked me from my doorway. I jumped and turned to her.  

"Why ask me?" I asked, annoyed. I had just finished writing a letter to my brother. He was in Australia, visiting his 'girlfriend'.

"Because you have a great fashion sense! Look at your hat. It perfectly matches your dress and your shoes are just perfect." Mel replied. I rolled my eyes.

"But, I suppose those maroon gloves are a little out of place... At least they match the color scheme!" She said cheerily.

"Pose!" She barked at me in her authoritative voice. I jumped again and posed with my leg up and arms around myself. Melanie grinned.


	10. Adeline Woodside / @nvaldi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @nvaldi.

Adeline strolled into a small park in the nicer part of Lamda confidently. She didn’t feel confident, but she was used to acting. With her shoulders thrown back, and her chin up, she looked around, surveying the people around her. Adeline spotted her, lurking in the shadows, Mrs. Helena Spencer-Curtis. The approached her, curtsying to her when they met. Adeline smiled warmly and said, "You know, I think we might have met before. Have you ever attended one of Dr. Oak's lectures on comparative progressive botany?"

“There’s really no need for that. It’s me, and I know that it’s you. No one else would have walked in with as much arrogance that you did,” replied Helena.

“I was just trying it out,” she said cheerfully, “and we look awfully suspicious here in the shadows.”

Her companion scowled. “Fine,” Helena replied gruffly, and followed her to the nearest path.

“So,” continued Addie as they moved along the path, “have you found anything about our list;e matter?” She was, of course, referring to the question she had asked when she had first joined the rebellion, Why had Mr. G. Rufus Doland decided to save her from the slums? Adeline met Helena monthly about this matter, and it was only cancelled once, after the attack on Pi.

Helena didn’t answer. When Adeline looked over, she saw Helena was staring stonily ahead, ignoring her. Shows obviously hiding something.

Adeline stopped abruptly. “Helena,” she said firmly, “what did you find?”

Helena scowled again, muttering something incomprehensible. “What did you find?” Addie repeated furiously.

“Nothing that is of your concern, Ms. Woodside. Now, run a long and do not interfere with matters you cannot even begin to comprehend!” Helena walked briskly away, who;e Adeline just stood there, dumbfounded. Helena never called her Ms. Woodside. No one did. Getting over her shock, she ran to catch up.

“What do you mean it’s none of my concern! It is exactly my concern. We are talking about me, remember, and it is a favor that I asked you!” she was flustered now, the colour high in her cheeks from anger, “and I can bloo-,” she stopped herself, there was no point being rude, “that is, very well understand any matter that you think is above me!”

“Adeline,” Helena sighed, “you are being a child, you cannot possibly-”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can do. And I am not being a child!”

“Adeline,” Helena repeated, “hear me out. You know very well that everything I do is for the good of the resistance. You must know that by now. And when I tell you that I cannot share things that I have discovered, I mean it. This is for both the safety of the Resistance and for your own personal safety. I cannot share with you what I have found because it is for the best.” Helena took a breath, “Now, I must go, and I am kindly asking you to not follow me again.” With that, Helena left, Leaving Addie standing there, shocked and furious.

Addie turned, and ran straight into the person she wished to see least. Gasping, She stepped back and apologized, hoping she would be allowed to walk casually past him. But no, she was not that lucky.

“Ms. Woodside!” he exclaimed cheerfully, “care to take a walk with me?”

She knew it was not an option to politely decline. Not to this man. And so, she walked on arm in arm with one of the country’s most powerful men.

Mr. G. Rufus Doland had come


	11. Beth de Garcia / @heymisstm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @heymisstm. It was co-written by Polyvore user @sakuuya, aka [sakuuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya/).

Beth had just finished up with a patient downstairs. She had started volunteering at the infirmary a few weeks ago, and she had taken to bandaging minor wounds - gunshots and the like. It was quite nice, she had to admit, to use her knowledge of biology and medicine practically. Plus, she needed a distraction from her current dilemma - Walt Steers. He hadn't visited her yet. It had been a day since the party, and she had expected him yesterday. She really didn't know when he would come, but she decided to leave it. That was not a can of worms she wanted to open just yet. Besides, she had no intention of waiting around for him like a lovesick puppy. The very thought of that made her wrinkle her nose in disgust.

Heels clacking, she wandered into the room she had been shown earlier - an office, one full of crates that she more than likely snuck into the city. And she spotted just the man she was looking for in there. "Dr Jhandir," she said. "I finished up with the gunshot wound that came in this morning. He's resting right now, I wouldn't go near him for a few hours at least." She came closer and peered into the open crate, knuckles lightly rapping on the copper surface. "You've been busy, I take it?"

"Ah, Beth," Dr Jhandir replied as he opened a second crate. He started to fish out small bottles of tablets, lining them up neatly on top of another unopened crate. Absorbed in his work as usual. Sometimes his apparent devotion could get on her nerves. "Good. I'll have Dr Montague look in on your patient when when she gets in this evening. For now, I should like your help getting some of these supplies unpacked and put away. Do you think you can help me get that autoclave out? I don't want you to strain yourself, but I confess I'm heartily sick of hand-sterilizing everything." She watched as he emptied the crate and moved to the side, before gesturing at the copper steam steriliser. 

“Of course, Doctor.” Beth immediately started to clear the remaining wood-wool from around the autoclave and then reached for the bar the Doctor had been using to open the crates. She pried the front of the crate off, briefly admiring the shiny exterior of the autoclave. “If you lean it this way,” she began, gesturing in a forward motion, “I can take the back and we will lift it out that way.” She could sense that he was desperate to get the machine out, and the sooner it was out, the sooner she would have his full attention.

She watched as he drummed the fingers of his right hand against his left arm. Then he nodded. “Right.” She waited until he had leaned the autoclave forward and taken up his side of it. Then she took up her side. “1, 2, 3!”

Once it was on the table and upright, Beth admired the front of it again, caressing the top of it. "Such a wonderful piece of engineering," she murmured softly. She sighed. "If only all the engineering in the city was as advanced..."

“Indeed.” As the Doctor moved closer, Beth stepped back to allow him to inspect the machine. Seemingly satisfied, he moved away from it again. "It would be much easier to run this infirmary on a platform on which the government bothered to do basic civic upkeep, certainly. I'm sure you understand. You're used to life on the aristocratic platforms where the plumbing works and the wiring does more than give the rats a place to nest."

"I would fund the upkeep of the infirmary, Doctor, but you and I both know that it would draw a lot of unwanted attention to the staff and our patients."

He simply smiled, continuing as if she hadn’t spoken. "On the other hand, I'm required to attend fewer dreadful parties, living here, so it's not all bad. How was the Steers' ball, by the way? Were you able to keep from laughing at the fools celebrating the rebellion's 'death?'"

Beth went to pry the lid off another crate, laughing softly. "Indeed, that would be one of the better perks of avoiding the richer way of life. The ball, actually, was more of an 'agony aunt' session, if you will." She rolled her eyes, leaning against the wall. "Walter Steers used me as a shoulder to cry on. He and the Hazard girl are no longer to be wed, though he wouldn't say why..."

His smile became something more vicious as he began to unpack the crate she had opened. "Well, I can't say I blame the Hazards. Young Mr. Steers isn't exactly marriage material, if they've an eye toward their legacy," he said cryptically.

Beth raised a quizzical eyebrow at that, twirling the bar in her hand slowly. "Well, I could tell that much myself. He hasn't any sort of decency when he is intoxicated." Then she quickly mulled over the last part of his comment. ‘An eye toward their legacy’? That threw her. She wandered closer to the doctor, her flirtatious aura making an appearance. It was more a habit than anything else - she and Dr Jhandir were quite good friends, and she didn't need any skills to get information from him. "But something tells me that's not exactly what you meant by that."

The Doctor suddenly became...strange. She watched as he checked the door, eyebrows raising more at his actions. Okay then.

He turned back, his expression gravely serious. "You're correct," the doctor said, voice low. "I have a strong suspicion as to why Walter was acting so peculiar, but it's the sort of information that, if repeated in the wrong circles, might well get you killed. I - ah, trust your discretion, of course.” He stuttered nervously before composing himself. “But I must stress that what I'm about to tell you is not only sensitive, but potentially quite dangerous."

Beth knew that the doctor was in some questionable circles, but never anything that this sensitive. Her curiosity raising its head, she pulled up a seat and perched herself upon it. "With all due respect, Doctor, this whole resistance we have running is potentially dangerous enough to get us all killed. I knew what I was getting into when I signed myself up." She raised her hands. "However, I understand your concern. The information you give me will not spread beyond this room."

He nodded, eyes darting around the room still. Then, he finally spoke. "Young Mr. Steers, though he appears the very picture of health an normality, is in fact nothing of the sort. He was crippled in an accident some years ago. He can walk due to extensive robotic prosthesis supporting his legs, but he lost the use of his genitals. I can only assume the Hazards didn't feel it prudent to shackle their only child to him after they learned the truth."

Beth's eyes widened, and she slumped back against the back of the chair. It took a lot to shock Madame de Garcia, but this certainly fit the bill to do so. "What? But, how - I didn't think that the robotics in the city were that advanced! It's practically seamless..." Then again, it explained a lot of things. He wasn't just dead-weight that night when she had to haul him to the loveseat - the weight of the mechanics had slowed her down. And of course the Hazards would not want their daughter to marry him - who would want to marry a man who could not continue the name in the form of a biological child? Walt could never provide that. 

She looked up at the doctor, frowning. "How do you know of this? What else do you know?"

"Walter's legs are the most advanced robotics I've ever seen," Dr Jhandir said, pacing back and forth across his office as he continued to explain. "They make Miss Li's mechanical limbs look like piles of scrap, and even Dave Heaton's prosthetics are quite primitive in comparison. In addition to prosthetics that match the function of human legs, as well as support structures around his waist and up his spinal column, he was also given...well, they're rather like stockings, I suppose, but made of a material that closely mimics the texture of skin. All in service of maintaining the illusion that Walter is a healthy young man.” A scowl darkened his features. "As for how I learned all this - credit for the procedure, among the few who know of it at all, is generally given to Thaddeus Beck. Of course he's nowhere near skilled enough a surgeon for something of this caliber. The surgery was successful because I was there to assist."

Beth was awestruck. The mechanics of this type of robotics, in such an advanced stage, is remarkable. Unbelievable. She couldn't believe that it had advanced so far. But, of course, only the best would do for the son of Mayor Steers. The scientific side of her was in complete awe of the knowledge that such advanced technology existed. 

She raised an eyebrow at what he said next. She knew he had worked with Beck before, but he had never given much information on the matter of his time with him. His expression right at this moment spoke volumes however. She decided to ignore that for now, along with the arrogance in his voice. "Who else knows? Besides us, Beck, the Steers and the Hazards?"

"Not many. You're part of a very select group. Let me see..." As he rattled off names, Dr Jhandir counted on his fingers. Really, that many? Not a very elite group if you asked her. "Dr Kern turned down the opportunity to work on Walter, but he knew what he was refusing. Prof Burns knows as well, though, judging by the Hazards' behavior of late, the rest of the board is likely unaware of Walter's condition. That new boy who works with Kern - Werner? - was years away from joining the division; it's unlikely, though not impossible, that anyone has told him anything. A handful of other men worked with Beck and myself, but they died off at a rather astonishing rate in the years that followed. I don't know whether they lacked discretion or whether Mayor Steers simply decided to tidy up some loose ends. In either case, mysterious deaths do tend to put a damper on workplace gossip."

Beth laughed harshly, shaking her head. "Lack of discretion will always get you killed in this city. That seems the most logical explanation for their sudden deaths. Unless they all caught a mysterious illness that robbed them of life." She rubbed the side of her face, debating whether or not she should tell the doctor her plans. Before he had shone a light on this major piece of information, she had been hoping to start a romantic entanglement, in order to win Walt's trust and have a reliable source of government information. Then would come the matter of the messy break-up and the acting skills. It was risky, but risky is what Beth lived for nowadays. This new information, however, put a very different spin on things. "My next course of action, it shall be...risky. And it involves Walter. I thought I would have to proceed with caution, but now I see I will need to be a lot more careful than I originally thought."

The doctor stroked his beard before he answered, almost hesitant. "Are you planning on seducing him? I'm not sure that will be a fruitful course of action. Ah, I've no doubt you're quite skilled in that area -" Beth couldn’t help but grin as he took a step away from her chair, "- but if Walter was willing to divulge his secrets to charming young women, the whole city would know by now."

Beth chuckled, slowly standing. The doctor had never seen her in action, the poor thing. He was missing out on all the fun, holed up inside the infirmary all the time. "Oh, but you have never been a subject to my seduction...I'm much more talented than you could imagine." She wandered closer, biting her lip, until she stood in front of the man. "Besides, you and I both know that seducing people isn't the only method I use to get what I want..."

"That's not funny, Elizabeth," Dr Jhandir said gruffly, stumbling backwards. She tried very hard to hold in her laughter. "I simply meant that another avenue of attack might be wiser, as you said. When you get the chance to question Walter, the tissues immediately adjacent his prosthetics should be particularly sensitive, to better carry electrical signals. And, of course, he wouldn't be too quick to report any injuries he might, ah, happen to acquire there."

Beth stopped, considering this new information. Electrical pulses...of course, they would have to be connected to the central nervous system to make them work seamlessly. She knew enough about the nervous system from her studies in biology to use it against him. "You know what? You may have a very good point there. Using his secret against him in the most brutal manner...I have to admit, it's quite tempting." She tapped her bottom lip lightly. "What would be the best weapon to cause the most discomfort to the tissues?"

His expression brightened at the change of subject. "A mild shock, I'd say. If you go over, oh, 500 volts or so, you risk damaging the prosthetics, and that won't do. Walter's desire to keep his condition secret is your advantage, which you'll lose if you force his hand by disabling his legs. The prosthetics themselves don't register pain, but a low-voltage shock should disrupt transmissions between the prosthetics and his own neurons. The resultant sensation, as I understand it, would be akin to having his real legs crushed or severed. That said, any instrument used sufficiently near the juncture will be more effective than usual."

Beth started to smirk. Ah, this was starting to sound like a fun prospect. It would definitely beat trying to weasel information out of Pennyworth every week in any case. "Ah...electrical pulses that create painful sensations...it's all music to my ears, doctor! Can you imagine the tales the boy will spill with a little persuasion?" She started to ramble off, her deviousness and excitement bubbling. "Of course, I'd have to trick him first - a few dates, just a bit of fun. He does look like he'd be a fine kisser..." What? No one could judge her for wanting to play with her food! She wanted her revenge to be as dragged out as possible.

"I admit I'm envious that you'll be the one to interrogate Walter. I do hope you'll find a bit of time to help out at the infirmary again after you've finished with him, so you can regale me with an account of your work. Between these coming elections and Daphne Massey breathing down my neck, I'm afraid I have to live vicariously through you."

"You know that I'd love to have you with me, Doctor. Between everything though, it would not be worth the trouble." Beth leaned against the counter, smiling slightly. "Ah, of course I will come back and work! We can come up here to unpack and gossip to our hearts’ content. I'm sure that I'll have plenty to tell you..."

"Oh yes," he crooned. "I imagine you will. Walter doesn't stand a chance against you. In other circumstances, I might even pity him. But he's the mayor's biggest weakness; he was going to end up in someone's spider-line eventually."

"Your vote of confidence is most appreciated, Doctor," Beth purred. "Oh, no, you shouldn't pity him. Not only is he the mayor's biggest weakness - he will be in safe hands! I won't hurt him! Well, not where it can be seen at least..."

"Then I wish you nothing but the best in your endeavors. In fact..." She frowned as the Doctor cast a critical eye at the few remaining crates scattered around his office. "I think I can finish up in here by myself, if you have more pressing matters to attend to. The new autoclave should be the only large piece in this shipment."

"Thank you," Beth smiled pleasantly. "Are you sure? I have no shipments coming in today, I can afford to spend another few hours here if I'm needed." 

"Quite sure," Dr Jhandir said, picking up the pry bar again and tapping it idly against one of the remaining crates. "I appreciate you taking time to help me unload supplies, to say nothing of treating that gunshot victim. But I think Miss Marcel and I can manage without you this afternoon. I'd just as soon you took that time to plan your campaign against young Mr. Steers."

Beth nodded, brushing down the skirt of her dress. "Think nothing of it, my friend. My services are always at your disposal, should you need them." She smiled and walked as far as him. "I will tell all when I have started my plans. You never know - maybe the next time we meet you might have won yourself a position as a leader." She kissed his cheek lightly, whispering in his ear. "You have my vote at the very least." 

The Doctor’s face paled, his posture stiff. She just caught his change of demeanor, and it confused her slightly. But it didn't bother her that much - he knew what she was like, if she bothered him in any way, that was his problem. "Good day, Miss de Garcia," he said stiffly, trying to maintain some of his dignity. "And thank you for your vote. With any luck, enough people will feel as you do that Irving Suttler won't be able to take this place away from me."

Beth made her way to the door, brushing a hand over her hair. "Good day, Doctor!” She started to head downstairs, a renewed spring in her step. This new information was exactly what she needed.

The time for waiting was over. 

It was time to get to work.


	12. Dr. Jhandir / @sakuuya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @sakuuya, aka [sakuuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya/).

The journey from Ω to the new main base in the Λ-Ν crossing was a long one, and Dr. Jhandir was not pleased to have to make it himself. However, the form of the documents he carried made it a necessity. They were just medical reports for the various patients still recovering at the infirmary, but being caught with any sort of rebellion documents, no matter how innocuous, was a hanging offense. Which was why the documents tucked into Dr. Jhandir’s waistcoat were in envelopes addressed to his various relatives in Delhi, and were themselves written in Urdu in addition to being encoded. It was unlikely, should he be searched, that the constabulary would have anyone on hand who could read Dr. Jhandir’s native language. At the very least, that would buy him some time.

No one looked at him twice on the steam tram to Λ, though, and no one followed him as he picked his way through the streets to the base. Occasionally, he stopped to peruse a shop or strolled off to a side street for a bit before doubling back, as though he was simply out enjoying the sights of the platform. His coloring made him stand out a bit on such a genteel platform, but he was well-rehearsed in appearing harmless. So he dressed well but not flashily, kept his head down, didn’t linger too long in any one place, and was to all appearances an absolute model immigrant.

Despite the circuitousness of his route, Dr. Jhandir soon arrived at the connector platform and the base it hid. Since Edgar Gilbert was still out of commission—being cared for by Miss Marcel back at the infirmary—Dr. Jhandir had to deliver his “letters home” to Vernon Massey, the only other member of the resistance leadership who had even a passing familiarity with Urdu.

Dr. Jhandir hadn’t spoken to Dr. Massey since the...incident at the infirmary, not really. He saw the older man in passing often enough, when Massey visited the infirmary to see his wife, but hadn’t exchanged more words than etiquette demanded. In truth, Dr. Jhandir was unsure of what to say. Should he thank Massey for shielding him? Apologize for being careless enough to be caught, perhaps? The older man would doubtless see through any attempt to feign actual remorse.

Dr. Massey’s door was closed when Dr. Jhandir reached it. Reflexively, he listened for a moment before knocking, just in case Massey happened to be discussing something of importance, but the interior of the office was quiet. Dr. Jhandir hoped that it might be empty. He knocked.

“Come in,” Dr. Massey answered. Blast. Dr. Jhandir entered the small office, and Dr. Massey stood to greet him. “Oh, good afternoon, Anil!”

“Good afternoon, sir,” Dr. Jhandir said as they shook hands. Massey sat back down behind his desk and gestured to another chair, which the younger man took. “I brought over my reports from the infirmary.” When he handed the envelopes over, Massey immediately broke the seal on one and began to scan it. Were he talking to anyone else, Dr. Jhandir would have assumed that they were pretending to read it for the look of the thing. After all, the report not only had to be translated, but decrypted—no small feat without a tabula recta, even for someone who knew the key. He was, however, talking to Vernon Massey. If anyone could decrypt a Vigenère on sight…

“How is your infirmary running?” Massey asked once he’d put the report down. “It’s difficult to get a sense for such things from casualty reports and descriptions of treatments; I’d prefer to hear it from you.”

“Well, the number of wounded has dropped significantly in the past weeks, as there haven’t been any major engagements with government forces. Our supply lines have been steady. Your wife should be ready to leave any day now”—and I suspect she’s only stayed this long so she can keep a close watch over me, he did not add—“as will Miss Gunn. Mr. Spencer and Prof. Gilbert are healing more slowly, but neither is in critical condition. I expect both to make full recoveries, in time. Everything is progressing quite well.”

“But?” Massey pressed. The man was every bit as perceptive as his wife.

Dr. Jhandir sighed. “The staff there seem to think that, without an emergency situation, their presence is no longer required. Even Louisa Montague, whom I thought a dependable sort, found herself called away on some urgent, mysterious business. Miss de Garcia is picking up some of the slack, but she can’t afford to make the infirmary her first priority. And Caroline Marcel—you know, Dr. Jacobi’s ward—is doing good work with Gilbert, but since she gained her own workshop, she’s been shut in there all hours. She won’t breathe a word to me about what she’s tinkering with.”

“Hm, yes,” Massey said, looking thoughtful. “The dangers of self-declared authority. I would love to be able to wave a hand and declare your setup official, but without Bart here to moderate, things have been a bit contentious of late. And you’re a particular sticking point. Jacobi’s ward got her lab space in part because certain elements of the resistance were out for your blood, and denying you access to your torture chamber was a means to mollify them.”

Seeing that Dr. Jhandir was about to protest, Massey help up a hand.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Anil,” he continued. “Daphne told me what happened, and, frankly, it sounded like you were doing what you thought was best to maintain the secrecy of your infirmary. I would have done something similar, in your place. Although I would have been more careful, knowing someone as brilliant as my wife was in the building.” Dr. Jhandir couldn’t help but flinch at the criticism. Massey went on: “But you must understand how your behavior looked, how it reflected on the rebellion as a whole. We had no choice but to punish you a little, just to keep up appearances.

“But,” Dr. Massey said, again before Dr. Jhandir had a chance to interrupt, “if you were to be elected to a base leadership position, I believe I could see clear to declaring your infirmary one of the official new bases. Enough business is conducted there these days to prove its feasibility.”

“That would be splendid,” Dr. Jhandir said once he was certain Massey was finished speaking. “I know I’ve secured the votes of my remaining staff, and I’m working on campaigning to the rebellion as a whole. My great strength, I think, is that I’m already leading a base. In essence, at least. That’s something none of the other candidates can claim. I was hoping you could advise me, though, on how to address the incident with the burglar. I thought I should get out in front of it, but I’m unsure what to say. You’re better at this sort of thing than I am.”

Dr. Massey smiled at the compliment, blatant though it was, and shook his head. “No, the wisest course of action is not to mention it at all. Bringing it into the conversation, even to deny it, will only give it the air of legitimacy in the minds of the masses. To most of the rebellion, the particulars of your actions are only a rumor right now—and you must know that you’re always the target of rumors.”

“Of course,” Dr. Jhandir replied, shrugging his shoulders. “The vast majority are false, I hasten to add, but it doesn’t discomfit me to be spoken of in fearful whispers.”

“But you see, all those other rumors, being false, damage the credibility of any accurate ones about your recent murder. Some of the details—an electric torture machine, really, Anil?—are as fanciful as anything else I’ve heard.”

“So as long as I pay talk about the break-in as little heed as I would any spurious gossip…”

Dr. Massey finished for him: “It will take on the mien of spurious gossip. Indeed. You should be focusing on the good your infirmary has done. That’s how you win people over.”

“And what about Irving Suttler?”

“What about him?”

Dr. Jhandir’s lips curled with disgust. “You’ve no need to play coy with me about ‘certain elements’ hungering for my downfall. The man is literally running on a platform of expelling former government employees! I won’t see all my good work undone because he feels the need to play hero.” In his passion, Dr. Jhandir half-rose from his seat, but Massey motioned for him to sit back down.”

“Calm yourself, Anil, for God’s sake. I’ve no more wish to see Irving in a position of leadership than you do. I find his obstinate idealism wearying. The appearance of virtue is important, even vital, but the actual practice can make life unduly difficult. I’m afraid his election would only hamper our cause.”

“Then help me stop him!” Dr. Jhandir exclaimed. “Surely you must know something I can use against him. No one can seem as spotless as Suttler does without hiding some deep stain.”

Dr. Massey leaned forward over his desk and tented his fingers in front of his mouth. “There is something, yes,” he said gravely, his eyes fixed on Dr. Jhandir’s, “but you have to swear to me that you won’t reveal it.” Seeing Dr. Jhandir open his mouth, Massey added, “No. Whatever little loophole you’re thinking of won’t work. The consequences of you revealing this information would be...unpredictable. So you must not make what I’m about to tell you public—not directly, not indirectly, not gradually. Not at all. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” If Massey believed that Suttler’s secrets, whatever they were, were dangerous enough to outweigh the pleasure of ruining such an arrogant moralist, Dr. Jhandir trusted him. “I swear I won’t tell a soul.”

“What do you know of Dr. Suttler’s romantic life?”

“What is there to know?” Dr. Jhandir asked in reply. “He’s never been married, and to my knowledge, he’s never even been seen courting a woman.”

“That’s correct,” Massey said, finally breaking eye contact. “I was his professor for a while when he was at school, and he never pursued any girls there, either. I do, however, have evidence that he was romantically involved with young men during his college years.”

Dr. Jhandir’s eyes widened. “He’s a sodomite, you mean? Ah, that’s more than I could have hoped for! I could absolutely destroy him with this—though I won’t,” he added hurriedly. “I intend to keep my word.”

“I hope so. I would so hate to have to dispose of you. Such a waste. And quite unpleasant for you as well, I should add.” Dr. Massey was a man after Dr. Jhandir’s own heart; the surgeon didn’t doubt for a moment that death at Massey’s hand would be excruciating. Massey continued, his voice deceptively mild: “Of course, you and I are both well aware of the stricture you’re under, but Irving isn’t. If you’re as smart as I think you are, he’ll never have to find out.”

“Oh, yes,” Dr. Jhandir breathed, a cold grin spreading across his face. He was rather awed by the deviousness of the older man’s mind. “Thank you, sir. Do you...may I see the evidence?”

“Well, I don’t keep in it my desk,” Massey said derisively. “But yes, if you come back tomorrow, I’ll show you. You’ll need to know details if you want Irving to take you seriously.”

“And I assume your name is never to be mentioned in connection to any of this?”

“Correct. I mean no offense when I say this, but you’re a...questionable element within the resistance. You’ve already seen what happens when you’re caught in an unethical act: You get a slap on the wrist, no one is overly surprised, and business continues as normal. It would be quite a bit more damning if the senior leadership was implicated in such things.”

“So you’re using me as the hand of your judgement against Suttler. Mm. Clever. And thank you for being upfront about it, I suppose.” In other circumstances, Dr. Jhandir might have been offended, but he couldn’t be mad at Massey while the older man was being so candid in his strategizing. It was like taking violin lessons from a virtuoso.

Dr. Massey shrugged. “You’re a clever man yourself, Anil, too clever to have your loyalty won with lies. And I intend to keep your loyalty.”

“You have it, sir,” Dr. Jhandir promised. He stood and offered his hand; Massey shook it.”Thank you again for the information. I suspect it will prove very useful.”

“I do so hope it does,” Massey said absently, opening another one of the documents Dr. Jhandir brought. “I don’t want to have to resort to more drastic measures to make these elections come out right. Good day, Anil.”

Dr. Jhandir gawked, wondering if he’d heard the older man correctly. But, to all appearances, Dr. Massey was entirely engrossed in decoding the report, and he took no notice of Dr. Jhandir’s stare.

“Good day, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.”


	13. Lillian Parks-McGee / @shades-of-rainbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @shades-of-rainbow.

"You wanted to see me, Ms. Howard?" Lillian sticks her head into the half open door of Eugenie Howard's make-shift office in one of the new bases.

"Yes, yes, do come in." The older woman responds. Lil shuffles in the door a bit nervously. "Have a seat!" Eugenie gestures for her to sit in one of the mismatched chairs in front of her desk while she is searching for something on the other side. The girl instantly sits on the chair with the red velvet cushion and waits patiently, looking around. An "A-ha!" Sounds from across the desk and her attention is snapped back to the present. Ms. Howard turns back around and sets a sleek automatic pistol on the desk in front of Lillian.

"Is this... For me?" She runs her fingers down the barrel and then looks up at Eugenie.

"Yes, Ms. Lillian, it is." She answers, nodding proudly.

"I... I can't accept this, Ms. Howard..." She says picking up the gun gently and looking it over in awe before setting it back down on the desk and pushing it away from her.

"Yes you can, and you will." She pushes the gun back towards the girl. "When I heard about you I told myself that if this girl doesn't have a good gun, I'm getting her the best fire arm the market has to offer, and here it is. Lillian, I saw myself in you from the day I saw your face and heard your story. I spent a lot of good money on this gun and you will take it and hold it with pride."

Lillian picks it up again getting used to the grip. The older woman leans across the desk and whispers to her. "Now go get that bítch that ruined your life." She smirked and nodded curtly before sitting back in her chair. Lillian smiles at her before standing and curtseying to her. She walks out the door, gun in hand and head held high.


	14. Adelaide Jude / @mandylou4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @mandylou4. It was possibly co-written by Polyvore user @my-dearest-fandoms.

Adelaide was strolling through one of the parks on platform Zeta, gathering intelligence under the guise of flirtatious conversation, when she saw her. Marissa Jones. A face she hadn’t seen since she was a little girl living on Omicron with knobby knees and too-short petticoats. Adelaide had heard Marissa was in the Resistance but hadn’t seen her the few times she had visited headquarters.

Adelaide stopped her stroll and began fiddling with her hat, trying to make it shade her porcelain skin a bit better while trying to catch Marissa’s eye. Their eyes met and with a nod of understanding, she disappeared into the alley between an opera house and draper’s shop. Adelaide continued adjusting her hat for another minute before following Marissa into the alleyway.

“Adelaide Jude,” Marissa said, calmly, and a bit coldly.

Adelaide pulled a hand-painted fan from her reticule and opened it with snap. She turned it against her face so that she would be unrecognizable to anyone who happened to glance down the darkened alley. “Marissa! It’s been so long since I saw you. Is your brother well?”

“Not as well as you, apparently,” she said, glancing at Adelaide’s clothing made of fine linen and velvet.

Adelaide blushed but continued on. “Did you hear about the Hazard’s ball? It was quite… revealing.”

She nodded. “Yes, I heard.”

There was an awkward lull in the conversation. Adelaide suddenly grasped one of her hands and said quickly, “Please visit me sometime, on Gamma. And come to me if you need anything. We were such good friends not so long ago. I would like to be friends again.”

Before Marissa could reply, they began to hear shouts. Both girls quickly ran outside the alley and gasped. There were police everywhere, and several had surrounded a small boy with dirty cheeks and ragged clothes. He was probably a pick-pocket, trying to survive on the few coins he could gather from the wealthy. With a sharp crack, one of the police officers hit the boy across the head with the butt of his gun. Adelaide gasped. She had never seen such a large police presence anywhere on London-in-the-Air.

“You should go,” Marissa said. Adelaide took one last look at her, then the crying boy, and ran.

She ran all the way to the connecting platform between Zeta and Gamma and stopped to compose herself. She straightened her hat, stuffed her fan back into her reticule, and walked as calmly as she could back to her home.


	15. Lady Lydia Stanley / @from-the-garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @from-the-garden.

Lydia pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her shivers not only sourced in the cool night air. She rapped thrice on the door to Dr. Jhandir's duplex. The building doubled as the Resistance's infirmary, and this was where the person who most needed to hear of Lydia's news was staying: Mrs. Daphne Massey. The images of ravaged bodies still hung in her mind as she waited, not wanting to spend a moment longer in the cold darkness alone.

The door swung open, and Caroline Marcel stood just inside. She held a lamp, its light illuminating long dark hair framing a lovely face, currently wearing a rather wary expression. Lydia supposed it was only natural: it was quite late. The other girl appeared to relax once she saw who stood there. "Lydia, come on in."

Lydia did, pulling off her shawl and hat and hanging them on the hat stand by the door. "Hello, Caroline. I am so sorry to be intruding upon you all so late, but I need to see Mrs. Massey right away."

"She is probably still up, actually. I'll take you to her."

Of course, Lydia had been there enough times to know where Mrs. Massey was staying, being as Thomas, too, was recovering there, but she suspected Caroline was curious to hear what urgent news brought her to the infirmary so late. Instead of descending the stairs to the basement where Thomas was staying, probably asleep, the two climbed upstairs to access the upper level of the 'abandoned' second half of the duplex. As they entered the parlor, a shadow of a figure emerged from a door that Lydia knew to lead into the room in which Bart Spencer was staying. The man stepped into the light of Caroline's lamp, and Lydia recognized Dr. Jhandir.

"What is going on, Caroline?"

"Lydia has arrived with urgent news for Mrs. Massey, sir."

Dr. Jhandir's sharp gaze flicked between the two of them for a moment. "Urgent? Well, then, I had better join you."

Lydia knew Thomas had never liked Dr. Jhandir much, but he did tell her how staying in the doctor's home infirmary had changed his mind somewhat. Lydia herself did not know Dr. Jhandir quite well enough to have a firm opinion, but she admired how he allowed his home to be taken over by injured rebels.

Despite the hour, Caroline was correct in guessing that Mrs. Massey was still awake. The older woman sat in a desk against the wall, pouring over documents by the light of the lamp by her bedside. Across the room, the sleeping form of Gina Gunn barely stirred. Upon the creak of the door, Mrs. Massey turned, peering at the three of them over the top of her reading glasses. "What's wrong? Lydia? Is that you?"

Lydia stepped past Caroline and into the light of her lamp. "Yes, Mrs. Massey. I gained a bit of extremely important and actually quite terrifying information at the party tonight. I thought it would be best to tell you first." The woman's eyes widened.

"You obtained intel so significant it could not wait until the morning?" From her voice, Lydia could tell she wasn't irritated at being disturbed, but shocked that it was Lydia who'd gained such intelligence. She'd always suspected that her superior did not her much, and that Mrs. Massey doubted her abilities as a spy. It was a reasonable doubt. After all, Lydia herself was not originally sure she could do it.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then sit. Tell me everything."

Lydia told the whole story in detail, trying to remember every word Warren said about the experiment. Her small audience was rapt in horror as she described what had become of Theodore Morris. When she concluded, silence fell in the room.

"My God. Humans with metal parts, controlled by the enemy, government laboratories in the Hazard's basement, and the scientists are using our people to do it all." Mrs. Massey appeared deep in thought. "Dr. Jhandir, you worked as a government scientist. What do you know about this?"

The doctor had not seated himself, but remained lurking in the doorway. Lydia had nearly forgotten he was there. "I recall the project. When I worked there, however, it was nowhere near any manner of success. It appears Dr. Kern has been quite busy. Unfortunately, I never worked on it, so there is nothing else I can tell you."

"I see." Mrs. Massey's slightly-hopeful expression fell. "Lydia, did you learn anything else at the Hazard's party?"

"Well... I did overhear Dr. Kern and Lady Sterling arranging some sort of meeting, but I'm not sure how relevant that is..." Lydia recalled.

Dr. Massey nodded, "Yes, that is odd. In any case, it is imperative that leadership knows of this immediately, especially if our enemies are planning on using these soldiers against us soon. please go and relate your story at the Headquarters at Lambda-Nu Crossing, now." Mrs. Massey's voice was firm. Lydia swallowed hard, pulling herself to her feet. She'd thought that maybe, just maybe, she'd be praised by Mrs. Massey for her work. Despite how often she tried to convince herself of it, Lydia found it hard to believe that you cannot please everyone.

Caroline stood, too. "I can show you out." Lydia nodded, stepping toward the door.

"Oh, and, Lydia?" Mrs. Massey called quietly. Lydia whirled around. "Excellent job tonight."


	16. Regina Godwin / @skylarthebichonpuppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @skylarthebichonpuppy.

We got down to Kent. My father told us 2 carriages would be waiting one was going to the estate for Walt and I to ride in and another so my father and Lord Mayor could go pay a quick visit to queens cove before they take Walt on the full tour.

I climbed out of the air ferry careful not to step on my traveling gown. I was directed to a carriage and stepped in I sat on the back bench and Walt sat on the bench across from me. 

“Lady Regina if I may be so ask why didn't the Countess join us?” 

“My mother has terrible air sickness it was terrible coming up that she vowed she would never ride an air ferry again. She has taken one a few times since then but they always make her unwell.”

“May I ask how are you since the death of your suitor?”

“I am heartbroken but I am getting better by the day. How are you and Ms. Elmira Hazard?”

“We are fine thanks for asking.”

We rode the rest of the ride in silence.


	17. Phinn Atwood / @trulydear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @trulydear.

"But Phinn," Millie pouted as she tugged a curl out of her rather painful up do, "I can't stand that insufferable drone."

Phinn sighed as he spared another glance at his pocket watch. Every minute that passed was another minute that Millie could use to whine, complain, and insult the siblings' company for the afternoon. Millie had been nothing but excited for the Hazards' party the past week, but after said party, she had discovered a newfound dislike for anyone and everything associated with high society. Moreover, she had decided to be quite vocal about it.

"It's just for a couple hours," Phinn replied with a shake of his head. "And besides, you'll just have to drink tea and make small talk."

Millie swore under her breath.

Phinn was no more pleased than Millie about their plans for the afternoon, but he managed to remain composed. Warren and his shiny new car would arrive at the Atwood estate any moment, and if Millie wasn't going to so much as try to preserve appearances, then Phinn had to take it upon himself. He kept his shoulders back, chin up, and lips curled into a polite smile. He was glad there was no mirror nearby, else he might take fright at the idea of looking like any other young gentleman of London-in-the-Air.

The Hazards' party the prior week had been Phinn's first interaction with proper society in years. It was hard to think that, several years earlier, he had been just like any Steers or Hazard. Atwood had been a name of prominence, a name that found itself tossed about at parties and teas. The Atwood children were perfectly respectable marriage material, with an academic and an upstanding inventor as parents. The family was a perfect example of the scholarly side of high society.

Phinn went to college at the university where his mother taught, as did most fine young gentlemen of London-in-the-Air. To have such an educated mother was an honor, though some still grumbled about having their sons taught by a woman. Nonetheless, Phinn quickly felt at home at the university, and found himself an integral part of life on campus.

That was back when Phinn was still the soft of young man he was expected to be, back when he attended parties and took part in the social activities of the well-to-do of society. That was back when he had been friends with Walter Steers and Warren Herald. That felt like ages ago now, as if that had all happened in a different lifetime.

Though Phinn's words and actions would never betray that he had been friends with the likes of Walt and Warren, it was still a fact. They had gone to university together, with Phinn remaining in college for an extensive amount of time in order to earn the highest degree possible. They had been inseparable for a time, until Phinn's distaste for high society started to display itself. The friendship simply fizzled away one day, lost as a thing of the past.

That is, until the Hazards' party the week before.

A shiny little letter had made its way to Phinn's flat the day after said party, inviting Phinn and Millie to the Steers mansion for cards, tea, and conversation. The cards were for the men, the conversation and tea for the sisters, cousins, and other female relatives who would be accompanying them.

"Do I truly need to go?" Millie whined again. "Us girls were only invited so the Steers brat has his choice of backup bride in case Elmira gets pregnant or dies any time soon."

Phinn suppressed an amused laugh. "Promise you won't say anything like that once we're there, yes?"

Mille rolled her eyes as she pulled her neckline up a bit. "I will make no such promises."

"We both have a job to do," Phinn reminded her as he glanced at his pocket watch again. "It's important that we attend this, whether we wish to or not."

"I know, I know," Millie scoffed. "But I don't see how I'll get much information from a bunch of prissy children giggling over tea."

"The deepest secrets can be found in the gossip of our womenfolk."

"...Is that a man's way of saying that women simply know more of what's going on, hm?"

Before Phinn could so much as open his mouth to respond, Warren and his car came careening into view. The car came to a sudden stop in front of the siblings, and Millie just swore under her breath again. She gave Phinn one more glare before forcing a girlish smile onto her face.

"Care to sit up front, Camilla?" Warren asked as he tipped his hat toward her. Phinn quickly pushed his way into the front seat before Millie had a chance to say anything. She took her place in the back without a word, though Phinn heard her give a slight sigh of relief at being free from Warren's obnoxious chatter bombarding her ear the entire ride.

Warren stiffly began driving again, his eyes glued to the road and avoiding Phinn altogether. Warren didn't seem too fond of the idea of digging up old friendships, but he had an obligation to be polite. Refusing to drive Phinn and Millie when Phinn asked him very politely would have been an act of hostility. In order to survive in a city such as this, it was important to play the game of appearances. Even with an important job and plenty of other responsibilities to fill his time, Warren still had to worry about what others thought of him. Every upstanding man, woman, and child did. And now, Phinn had to once more.

"Hello," Warren finally let out with a heavy breath after several minutes of silence.

"Hello," Phinn responded with a nod, his eyes far from Warren's as well.

"How have you been?"

"Fine. And you?"

"The same."

"Alright."

"Yes."

And that was the end of any conversation between them for the rest of the trip.

Walt, on the other hand, was all smiles and chatter as he ushered Warren, Phinn, and Millie into his home. Millie kept flashing angry glances at Phinn and muttering nasty words under her breath, though there was little Phinn could do to stop her.

"I'm so glad you decided to come," Walt practically trilled as the group headed toward the parlor. "I know you haven't been...keen on attending such events in recent years. But it seems as if Phinn Atwood has finally returned to the land of the living."

Walt laughed, and Phinn forced himself to laugh as well. It was an awkward, stuff laugh, but Walt didn't seem to notice.

"And Camilla," Walt said as he looked Millie up and down, causing her to visibly grimace, "it's a pleasure to see you again."

"Oh, believe me," Millie grumbled quietly enough to avoid Walt hearing her, "the pleasure is all yours."

Walt and Warren went off to the parlor, leaving Phinn and Millie a moment before they would each go separate ways, with Phinn in the parlor and Millie in one of the house's many sitting rooms.

"Do try to behave," Phinn reminded her with a hopeful smile; Mille rolled her eyes.

"No promises," she scoffed.

"Do you want me to accompany you?" Phinn suggested. "I'm sure I could explain to the boys that I simply need to supervise you, and---"

"There's the brother I know," Millie laughed as she gave him a slight push. "I'll be fine. The question is, will you be?"

With that, Millie set off down the hallway, a flutter of skirts and mumbled swears. Phinn was afraid she might be right. He hadn't been a part of this world for years, and he hadn't felt any great urge to return. It was a shallow, greedy, deceptive world. It was a world that Phinn had tried so desperately to separate himself from. But now, it was the world Phinn needed to plunge himself back into if he wanted to help further the resistance's cause.

He took a deep breath and joined the other men in the parlor, where a maid was pouring drinks for them. Phinn took the only empty seat left, awkwardly eyeing the bottles the maid was carrying. He had a feeling it was some sort of alcohol, but he knew nothing more than that; he avoided the terrible substance whenever he could.

"Coffee, please," Phinn told the maid quickly. "Black."

Walt laughed. "Some things never change, eh, Phinn?"

Phinn gave a tight smile. "Some things never do."


	18. Phillip Jacobs / @tokyo-mocha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @tokyo-mocha.

“Oh, Philly, I wish you had told me you were coming over. I have already made plans to spend the afternoon in the park with Mr. Steers,” Elmira pouted. Thing is, I had already planned on getting rid of the obnoxious little twit.This was just convenient. “Do take care of Mummy’s kitty, she does love that thing so.” She leaned in close to my ear, breathing heavily through her mouth like she always does. I expected her to say something, but she just turned away dramatically after an uncomfortably long period of ear-breathing.

Thankfully freed of her, a servant led me upstairs to the cat’s bedroom. Oh, did I mention these people were so rotten rich that their cat had a bedroom?

Mrs. Ross-Hazard sat on a rose, tufted loveseat clad in a loose, jewel-toned dress. It was simple, worn without a bustle or hoop. It hung close to her body, just a few ruffles and buttons down the bust to define it. An odd choice with her ginger hair, but it somehow didn’t clash.

“Oh, thank you for coming so quickly Phillip. Dupioni’s coat is simply a disaster.” The fact that I recognize the cat’s name as a type of silk shows I have spent too much time around these people.

“It’s nothing, Mrs. Hazard. Here,” I took the white puffball from her arms and carried it to an ottoman. I sat on the floor and began trimming its coat.

“Please, you must call me Geneva,” she said in a low voice, crossing to a mirror. Here she made a series of faces, pulling at her skin and stroking her hair. “You’re one of us now.” I continued to trim Dupioni’s fur, snipping the knots out. She would come to me. After roughly five minutes passed, Geneva spoke again. “God, my husband is such a bore. He’s so… panicky. I doubt he ever gets anything done.”

I unintentionally snorted and had to cover it by saying, “hairball”. It was well known that Chairman Alistair Hazard was a cruel villain within the resistance. His wife was just as ignorant as his daughter. If I couldn’t get any information from her, at least I could get the extra connection from this. Luckily when he caught me smooching his daughter, I was able to run out through a servant exit unscathed.

I finished the cat. I left about an hour later ;)

That evening I lounged at home, sketching a girl from memory. It was just my good fortune that that very girl turned up at my door. I threw the notebook aside and answered the incessant knocking.

Caroline stood below me, her violet cloak soaked in the rain. Though, it wasn’t her cloak. It was Louisa’s and it had a small bit of fabric dragging on the ground. The two girls had both been incredibly small, though Caroline always seemed little. Like a troll. She didn’t grow much after she came to live with us, standing at barely 5’3”. I’d always been proud of all my 6’, it was the one thing I could hold over her. She stared at me with a seething bitterness.

“May I come in, Phillip?” Her voice was especially cold on my name. She’d only ever called me Johnson. I just looked at her, not moving. She shoved past me anyway, letting her hood drop down.

“What in hell would possess you to come here?” I said with a sharp tone.

“Stop, stop with that.” Her voice wavered and her lip quivered. God, I hoped she wouldn’t cry. “I just have something to tell you. I guess you don’t want to hear anything from me though, seeing as I did you SO much wrong.”

“D.amnit, Caroline. You’re already here, I can’t stand your whining.” She looked hurt. She always looked like a kicked puppy. She couldn’t always be the victim.

“Fine. I came to tell you Louisa’s gone. She’s had to go away on business and I own her apartment. I hate it, I hate being alone. I was going to make you an offer, but it’s obvious you don’t care.” Louisa… left? Up and gone? No goodbye? An anger flared up inside of me towards the woman. She wasn’t the current problem.

“You’re right, I don’t care. Now get out of my house.” Her eyes narrowed.

“No. I want to talk, Phillip. Stop avoiding me. Stop shutting me out!” Her yelling was by far the most obnoxious sound on this Earth. Without thinking, I raised my hand to hit her. She caught it and stared at me in disgust. I felt disgust in myself. I never hit _anyone_. Her disgust and anger dissolved. Now she just looked at me with this emptiness and pain.

Unexpectedly, she wrapped her arms around me. “I try so hard, I try so hard to reason with you and make you like me. That’s all I ever really wanted. You never liked me. I never understood. You never liked me.”

That’s what I fear most; Swallowing my pride and forgiving her. I hugged her back briefly. No, I do not like Caroline. No, I do not forgive her. But that’s a feeling that is mine, and she should not suffer for it.

“Did you draw me, Phillip?” She let go (to my relief) and picked up my notebook that I had thrown aside (to my not-relief). She knelt down on the floor and traced the lines. “You’re very talented.”

“Thanks,” I said, pouring myself a drink. Her cloak was still on even though the room was warmed by the fire. That, regrettably, concerned me a bit. Even if I hated her, I didn’t want her to be unwell. When she was with Louisa at least she had someone looking over her. I’m not sure how she was surviving. She always hated being alone. “So, uh,” I attempted to make conversation. “Who has your vote in the upcoming election?”

“Oh, I don’t really want to talk about politics.” She stared blankly at the fireplace.

I knew who had my vote. Surely, if I could not vote for myself, I would vote for Elise. She’s responsible, and a lovely woman. She’ll do well as a leader.

“Do you miss your father?” Caroline said softly.

“Yes.”

“I miss him too. I miss him a lot… I wish he hadn’t gone. That I still slept in the spire. That I’d wake up each morning and fix his breakfast and fetch the mail and write his letters and repair the machinery and maybe it wasn’t a good life, but it was a life I liked. I missed you too, after you left. You were mean to me, but we were little so it was okay. Maybe I liked getting up in the morning because I thought that you would change your mind and come home.” She laid down in front of the fire. “It never happened though. It just made me sad because sometimes the Doctor would remember he had a son and he would ask where he was and I had to tell him that you were gone. At night when I was lonely I would sit in the kitchen and sometimes he would cry. I didn’t like that. Sometimes I wish I had never come to live with you. If my mother hadn’t died then everything would just be fine within your family. I would cry every night the year you left. It was my fault you went.”

I didn’t have much to say after that, nothing but, “I’m sorry, Caroline.”

“It’s alright, the past is irrelevant.” I sat quietly, feeling an awful mix of guilt for the last person I’d feel that for. For a long time, the room was still except for the crackling of the fire. The grand clock struck midnight.

Caroline was asleep, so I just picked her up and laid her on the sofa. I had a spare blanket that I put on her, so I just let her stay the night. Perhaps, I could try to see her as a little sister rather than a leech. Perhaps.

I laid in bed for a long time before falling asleep. I had a lot to think about.


End file.
